


Muzzle

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [31]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asthma, But mostly angst, Consent Issues, Gen, Some self-harm but its pretty mild, but if you've read the rest of the verse you know it gets better, deliberately hitting your head and biting your lip to bleeding, downer ending tbh, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, magical compulsion, selective mutism, truly outrageous amounts of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: “I will tell the secret to you,to you, only to you. Come closer.This song is a cry for help.”- Siren Song, Margaret Atwood





	Muzzle

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt from a nonnie on tumblr:
> 
> "Can I ask for some sweet sweet Patton laoft angst? Or whump?"
> 
> you absolutely can ask and shall receive
> 
> also inspired by a comment from [ xNinjaGurl50](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xNinjaGurl50/pseuds/xNinjaGurl50) on [ what you choose to put in the ground ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355680)
> 
> takes place chronologically after [ confuse my tongue with your tombstone ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389622) but before [ the mirror crack'd from side to side ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000761)

“Hey, Patton-cake!”

Patton smiled up at Roman, a little exasperated.

“You are supposed to be at your table, mister,” he replied.

Roman waved him off.

“Mamaw came back, I’m a free agent once more,”

“Well I am _not_ sneaking you any cheese, so don’t even try it,”

Roman pouted, working his way around the Waller’s table to sit on the ground by Patton’s chair.

Pop saw him, and gave him a gentle but clearly disapproving frown.

“Don’t steal any of that cheese, kiddo, I’m watching you,”

Roman through his hands up.

“Why does everyone assume me to be some kind of morally deficient cheese thief?”

“Experience,” said Patton.

“On my honor, I will not steal any of the cheese,” said Roman, “I may _purchase_ some of the cheese,”

“The heck you will,” said Momma, returning from her trek through the farmer’s market with bags laden with vegetables, “I am under strict orders from your gramma not to enable you, Mr. Lactose Intolerant,”

“But Mrs. _Waller_ , you just make such _good cheese_ ,”

“Nope,” she said, “Don’t argue with me, it’s not worth my life to get May Gage mad at me for making you sick,”

“I _barely_ get sick!” cried Roman. Momma narrowed her eyes and Roman finally seemed to relent.

“What did you need Roman?” asked Patton

“Just came to say hi. Gets a little boring, haggling about what is or is not an appropriate price for eggs,”

“Well, I think you have _egg-cellent_ prices,” giggled Patton

“Terrible,” said Roman immediately, “Low-hanging fruit for sure,”

“I think you’re _eggs_ - _aggerating_ ,”

“Go to jail,”

“Well, I think your puns are _egg_ - _ceptional_ , honey,” said Momma and Roman gave her a betrayed look. Patton held his hand out and Momma gave him five.

A couple approached the table, and Patton recognized them as one of his classmates, Jessie Donahue’s parents. Patton sat up straight, and Momma turned away, trusting Patton to do it properly.

He should have been paying closer attention.

They were both polite, if Mr. Donahue was a little gruff. They exchanged the bills and the wedge of cheese Mrs. Donahue had chosen, and Patton counted out the change quietly.

“Here you go!” he said, placing the change in her hand, “Have a nice day!”

Mrs. Donahue’s face went slack immediately, her eyes glassy – her smile went from polite to practically sedated, and she dropped the coins and everything else in her hands to the ground.

Patton recoiled, horrified, both his hands clapped over his mouth. Roman was already on his feet, and Momma was rushing toward them.

“You-!” Mr. Donahue exclaimed, and then he turned on Patton, thunderous fury writ all over his face.

“You little monster, how could you-”

“I didn’t mean to!” said Patton, stumbling out of the seat and back. People were turning to stare, some curious, but most alarmed.

“I can’t believe you let him out like this-” Mr. Donahue snarled, and Momma held out her hands, placating.

“It was an accident,” she said.

“Why is everyone shouting?” said Mrs. Donahue, blissed out and serene, “It’s such a lovely day,”

Patton thought he was going to throw up.

“An _accident?_ ” Mr. Donahue snarled, “Some _accident_ , putting spells on people-”

“He didn’t mean to,” said Pop, moving in between Patton and the table, pushing Patton behind him.

“Well, if he’s gonna be out an about with that damn curse on him maybe you ought to get him a _muzzle!_ ”

Patton bolted.

“Patty, stop!”

“Patton! _Patton!_ ”

Patton didn’t even slow down, weaving through the booths until he got to the sidewalk and then cutting through someone’s yard into the trees behind it; he didn’t know where he was going, just that it was far away and _not here_ , away from Mr. Donahue’s shouting and Mrs. Donahue’s slack face and his parents horrified expressions.

He didn’t know how long he ran – too long, definitely, both for the burning pressure in his lungs and how deep he’d gone into the forest. Stupid. He was so _stupid_.

But what did it even matter?

He collapsed against a tree, gasping, scrambling in his pockets for his inhaler. He pulled it out, staring.

It was hard to think around the pounding in his ears and the wheezing of his throat, but he could still see the inhaler through the spots in his vision.

A muzzle, Mr. Donahue had said. There were much simpler solutions.

Shaking himself, Patton brought the inhaler to his lips.

Using an inhaler when he could barely breathe was hard enough, but Patton was also about one stray icky thought from bursting into tears. The air struggled out and in, and Patton tried to focus only on the inhale and exhale.

When he could breathe but not really _breathe,_ he tilted his head back against the tree. He did it again, a little harder, and again, over and over until he could feel the very beginnings of a bruise forming.

Something rustled in the underbrush nearby, and Patton tensed. He didn’t turn to look, and he held perfectly still.

More rustling, more in front of him, and Patton didn’t have time to look away before Roman came stumbling through the trees, faintly out of breath and a little wild-eyed.

Patton opened his mouth to greet him, but… the words just wouldn’t come. He made a tiny, nonsense noise, and the sound of his own voice made him flinch like he’d been hit.

“ _Patton_ ,” Roman said, soft and relieved.

Patton burst into tears.

He covered his mouth with his hands, so the only sound was his breath through his nose, heavy and tight. Roman made a pleading sound, kneeling on the forest floor beside him and gently grabbing Patton’s hands.

“Don’t, Patton, please, c’mon. You can’t breath right like that,”

Patton shook his head rapidly.

“ _Please_ ,” said Roman, “Please, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, Pat, I promise, but _please_ uncover your mouth,”

Slowly, Patton pulled his hands away, and Roman caught both of them in one of his and pulled Patton into a crushing hug. Patton’s breath continued to come in heaving gasps, his stomach rolling with every inhale.

Roman held Patton close to him with one arm and fired off a rapid text with his other hand before tossing the phone to the ground. He hummed gently, rocking them, murmuring soothing words in between the tuneless crooning.

“ _Pat_ ,” he said, “It’s okay, it’s fine, everything’s fine, nobody’s mad-”

 _Liar_ , Patton thought, but didn’t say because who knew right? It was just orders, now, just _telling_ , but what if one day it was just talking? What if one day Patton called Roman a liar and he never spoke the truth again? Be a heck of a way to repay him for lying to make Patton feel better.

Even if it really wasn’t working.

Roman was humming so loudly it seemed like Patton’s whole body was vibrating.

Or maybe he was just shaking.

Roman’s phone started ringing in the dirt, and Patton’s sobs picked up again; he tried to move back, away from it, because what if someone wanted to _talk_ to him, he couldn’t, _couldn’t_ , shouldn’t be allowed to talk at all ever, they should just lock him up somewhere silent until he was quiet so long he _couldn’t_ talk anymore-

“Patton, it’s fine,” said Roman quickly, “I’m not picking up, look. I won’t answer,”

Patton looked up at him, hiccups shaking his whole body.

“I won’t answer,” said Roman desperately, “I told them you’re fine. We don’t have to pick up, or go anywhere or- or talk, you don’t have to talk, I- til you want to, I mean! I promise, I _promise,_ Patton, please, please don’t cry, Pat,”

Roman pulled Patton close again, and his own shoulders and voice were trembling. Patton made fists in the back of Roman’s shirt and bit his lip against the sound of his sobs so hard that he tasted blood.

“Patton,” Roman choked, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do, I’m _so sorry,”_

Patton shook hishead, and Roman sniffled a bit. He rubbed his cheek on top of Patton’s head and Patton broke into a fresh round of tears.

He had no idea how long they sat like – long enough that Roman had to readjust so he wasn’t on his knees, but when Patton had tried to retreat Roman had scrambled to hug him again. Patton still couldn’t bring himself to speak to tell Roman he could let go.

And he didn’t really _want_ Roman to let go, anyway.

Eventually, long after his leg had fallen asleep, Patton managed to force himself to let go and push gently on Roman’s shoulders. Roman’s face was twisted with desperate worry, and he grabbed for Patton’s hand.

“Are you ready to go home?” he said gently.

Patton opened his mouth. _Yes_ , it was one word, definitely not an order. He could say yes.

He didn’t.

He closed his mouth again, gritting his teeth, and he nodded.

Roman looked absolutely heartbroken, but he didn’t ask anything else or press Patton to give a verbal response. He helped Patton to his feet and kept a firm grip on his hand, occasionally gripping Patton by the elbow or the waist to help him over the rougher area of the woods.

They stepped out of the trees onto the gravel road that Patton’s house was on, walking for a few more minutes, still silent. They turned the bend and the house came into view, big and white and familiar with its chipped blue trim and porch full of wind chimes, but it didn’t look or feel like home right now. Patton didn’t know if he’d feel at home anywhere, really.

Someone must have seen them out a window, because his parents came rushing out the front door and down the porch steps. Momma held out her arms and Patton let her pull him against her chest.

She exchanged words with Roman over the top of Patton’s head, and Roman said a goodbye that Patton barely heard but he must have made some kind of appropriate facial expression because Roman stuffed his hands in his pockets and starting walking, clearly miserable, back down the gravel lane.

Momma coaxed him into the house and sat him at the table. Pop sat across from him while she made him a cup of warm milk with honey in it and Patton wondered if he could hunger strike against his own vocal chords for a moment and then shook himself to dispel the thought.

It was quiet for a long time as they all sat with their warm drinks, Patton’s milk and his parents coffee.

“We’re not mad, kiddo,” said Pop eventually, “We know it was an accident,”

“You usually say ‘I hope you have a nice day,’” said Momma gently, “I can see how the slip happened,”

Patton nodded miserably.

Momma let out a long sigh.

“So, I _promise_ you aren’t in trouble, sweetie,” she said, “But-”

Patton tensed.

She sighed once more.

“Maybe you shouldn’t run the booth at the farmer’s market again,” she said, quiet and achingly gentle.

Patton felt like his rib cage was caving in, because the booth- the booth was just about the only time anybody but Roman and Logan or his parents talked to him, the only time Patton ever felt even just a little bit normal.

But even if he did – who was going to come back after today if Patton was there anyway? It wasn’t like it would make a difference, whether Patton said yes or no,”

So he looked up from his mug and smiled as best he could, nodding quickly.

“Okay,” said Momma. She covered her face with her hands, looking sad and so, so tired.

They sat for another minute, and Patton stood up from his chair, pointing up.

“Going to bed, kiddo?” said Pop.

Patton nodded.

“Alright,” he said, squeezing firmly as Patton hugged him goodnight, “Get some good sleep. You need a good rest,”

Upstairs in his bedroom, Patton sat cross-legged on his bed and stared into his hands, watching the tears _plink_ down into his palms like a steady rain.

“Stop crying,” he said quietly.

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> like, _I_ know it gets better, and _you_ know it gets better, but jeezy creezy. poor patton
> 
> you can also find me at [ tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com ](tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com)


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